


Beautiful Soup

by captainofthegreenpeas



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Big Brother Mycroft, Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Family Feels, Gen, Kid Mycroft, Kid Sherlock, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-18
Updated: 2017-01-18
Packaged: 2018-09-18 09:44:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9378998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainofthegreenpeas/pseuds/captainofthegreenpeas
Summary: Christmas Eve 1977. Mr & Mrs Holmes witness something they will never see again.





	

The clock on the mantelpiece chiming ten heralded a fresh peal of crying from upstairs. Mummy sighed wearily and folded her newspaper. She made to get up from her armchair to reply, but Father held up his hand to stop her.

“No no, I’ll go,” he volunteered. “You relax. He can’t want feeding already.”

It must be the nightmares. Mycroft hadn’t suffered any bad dreams so far, but baby William seemed to get them a lot for a baby who had never been in danger. Father wondered what he had been dreaming about. Sometimes his sleeping face would go blank and he would freeze, his little heart pounding under his sleeping suit. Other times he would ball his little fists and kick his froggy legs desperately, as if fighting off some kind of monster.

Halfway up the stairs, the crying stopped. Having made it this far, he decided to at least check on the baby.

The bedroom door was open when he arrived at the landing and like all new parents he was struck by the irrational but primal fear that what if that meant that some burglar had broken in and made off with the baby-

Upon approaching the door, however, his ears picked up what his fear had missed. Soft though the sound may be, burglars don’t sing…

Standing with his back to the door was Mycroft, slippered and with his dressing gown neatly tied over his pyjamas. William, Father realised, was nestled in Mycroft’s spindly arms, firmly enough to prevent him falling but not too tightly. 

“…soup of the evening, beautiful soup. Beautiful soup, beautiful sooooouuup…”

Mycroft’s voice, clipped and stern, smoothed out with the round even notes to a more mellow and soothing tone. 

Galvanised, Father hopped down to the living room. Hushing Mummy, he grabbed her by the hand and hurriedly ushered her upstairs before she could miss something she would never see again. Mutely, he pointed inside to where their older son was reaching the second stanza.

“Beautiful soup, who cares for fish? Game, or any other dish? Who would not give all else for two-oo-oo pennyworth only, of beautiful soup? Beautiful soup, beautiful soouuup, sooup of the ev-en-ing, bea-oooooo-uuu-tiful, bea-oooo-uu-tiful soooouuuuup.”

He continued to hum the last lingering notes as he lowered his baby brother back into his cradle, his voice only fading off once William was out of his arms. Only then did he acknowledge his parents’ presence with a glance. Father was about to give a round of applause but Mycroft placed a finger to his own lips to silence him. Without a word, he went back to his bedroom and closed the door. Mummy looked up at Father with a smile and gave him a brisk but warm hug. They returned to their armchairs and no more tears roused them until dawn of Christmas morning.


End file.
